


Maestitia

by starwalker42



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer Arc, Episode: s05e01-02 Redux, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwalker42/pseuds/starwalker42
Summary: "We're going to lose her. I'm sorry." Lose her. Another euphemism. No one can say it. Maybe if they keep avoiding the word they can pretend it won't happen, that this isn't what they all know it is.Canon-divergent take on Redux.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. The End

_'Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.'_   
_-Norman Cousins_

He's only just left the hearing when his phone rings. Blevins left immediately. Skinner just kept looking at him in shock. No one made a move to stop him leaving, so he's left, and now he doesn't know what to do. It's over. He doesn't feel anything.

He answers the phone.

"Mulder."

"Fox?"

Scully's mother. Her voice makes him freeze and he leans to the wall for support. He closes his eyes. _Not like this, please no, not like this, don't do this-_

"Dana… Dana said you had a hearing but… if you're free, she wants to see you." She takes a deep breath. "She's not going to last much longer, Fox."

He wants to scream. They're not taking Scully away from him. Not his Scully, not now, not after all this. He needs to run away from it all, and he almost drops the phone right there, intent on blocking all of this from his mind and severing his last connection with her. What can he do to help her? Why does she want to see him, now?

"She's not going to…" he can't even say it. His voice splinters.

"We're going to lose her. I'm sorry."

Lose her. Another euphemism. No one can say it. Maybe if they keep avoiding the word they can pretend it won't happen, that this isn't what they all know it is.

Mulder lets the wall take his entire weight. He remembers the way her hand grasped his this morning, and the soul-crushing pain that had consumed him last night. He thinks about saying goodbye, and for a long, long moment he can't breathe.

"Fox?"

"Tell her… tell her I'm coming. I'll be right there."

He hangs up before she can reply, knowing that if he says any more he'll break down into tears and won't be able to stop. He's going to the hospital, whether he wants to or not. It's not about him anymore; it's about her.

He never told Samantha what he wanted to, or his father. If Scully goes before he can talk to her, he knows he won't be able to live with himself.

xXx

Scully's mother is sat outside her room. She looks up at him with red eyes and manages a smile.

"Bill's with her now."

Mulder takes the chair next to her. He tries to forget about his conversation with Bill. It _is_ his fault. All of it. He knows that, but hearing it from someone else makes it worse. Maybe Scully doesn't want to see him. Maybe she does, and she just wants to yell at him and tell him he's worthless. If she does, he won't resist. If 'I hate you' is the last thing he hears her say, at least she'll have had what she wants. He'll do anything for her right now. Almost.

He'll let her hate him, but he won't let her change his own mind. He loves her, and no matter what she says or does, that is never going to change.

The door opens. Bill is crying, and he goes to his mother and she holds him, trying to comfort him while her own tears stream down her cheeks. Neither of them acknowledge Mulder.

He rises and walks in before he can think twice. Those steps, the turn, the action of shutting the door behind him seems to last forever. He can't look at her, not yet, so he stares at the door and tries not to listen to Scully's family outside. Then she says his name, and he feels the weight in his chest hit him full-on.

"Mulder."

He has to look at her, now, and when he does he's thankful. She looks the same as she did this morning- maybe paler, a little weaker, but her eyes can still focus on him, and she still looks like Scully.

"Hi," he breathes.

"What happened?"

"No. I don't want to talk about that."

An old flash of defiance lights up her eyes. "Mulder, tell me."

He walks forward. There's a chair next to her bed, and he sits right on the edge, as close to her as he can get. He wants to throw his arms around her and just cry, but she wants to know, so he's going to tell her.

"I named Blevins. I think they're all in on it somehow, Scully, but he was the leader. I didn't know until this morning, but now-"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. Your mom rang me pretty much as soon as I got out, and I came straight here."

Scully exhales. Up close, the pallor of her skin and the trembling in her breath is almost too much to cope with. No wonder Bill left in tears. Mulder clenches his fist hard to stop himself from crying. He's here with her, and that's what's important, now. If he thinks about the future or the past too much he won't be able to do this.

"I'm scared, Mulder."

He can't stop it any longer. The tears escape and roll down his cheeks, spurred on by her tone and her words. She's never scared.

"You're never scared."

"I am." He can't look at her. "I'm scared about what comes next, and about mom and Bill and Charlie. I'm scared that I'm not going to be here when they need me, and I can't tell them what I want to. Mulder… Mulder, I'm so scared for you. This deal, and the FBI, and the conspiracy… Mulder, I can't leave you." She lets out a half-sob. "I can't."

"Shh," he wipes his own tears away and looks at her. "Don't worry about me. I'm going to be fine."

There's a long moment of silence before she gives him a watery smile. "I needed you to be here. I needed to tell you that none of this is your fault, and that I don't blame you." She reaches for his hand, and he takes it automatically. "Mulder, I want you to stay with me."

It's too much to take in. He knows what she means, but he can't. He can't stay here with her, not until the end, he can't be the one to tell her it's all going to be okay somehow and watch as she closes her eyes for the last time. But she's looking at him, and her skin is so cool against his, and despite everything she's looking more beautiful than ever, and he hears himself agreeing.

"It's okay, Scully," he squeezes her hand. "I'm here."

She looks about to cry again, but instead she pulls weakly at his hand and edges back a little. He understands.

Keeping her hand in his, Mulder carefully lies down on the bunk with Scully, pressing his legs against hers and pulling her close. It's uncomfortable, and the bunk smells of hospital scrubs. He wants to get her out of the room and take her outside, just once, so she can see the sky.

"Hey," he whispers against her ear, "look out the window."

She rolls onto her back, still cocooned in his arms, and he feels her take a deep breath as her head moves to the side. She doesn't speak, so neither does he; they lie there in silence while her pulse weakens beneath his fingers and her breathing becomes more and more shallow.

He wants to tell her everything he's been meaning to, but he can't let himself, not now. His mind can't make sense of his emotions, after all; it's stuck on repeat like a broken record, and over and over again: _don't go, not now, I don't want you to leave me, I can't let you go yet, stay with me, stay with me, stay with me._

He doesn't know if she believes in heaven and hell, or any concept of life after death, but he doesn't have a choice anymore. Scully can't ever leave this world, not fully. The world wouldn't be the same if she just ceased to be. He thinks of her up above, meeting her father and her sister, or God, and finally, finally, being free. He smiles, even though his heart is still breaking at the thought of losing her. He loves her, more than words can describe.

"Love you, Mulder." She says it simply, without any hesitation, as if she says it every day, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Mulder kisses her cheek. His throat's seized up, but he knows that she understands somehow, that he doesn't need to say it. He brushes the hair off her forehead, pulling away just enough to see her in full one last time, before she has to go. Her eyes are closed, her skin paler than he's ever seen it, and he can barely see her breathing anymore. He knows it's going to be soon. He lowers himself back down and wraps his arms around her again, pressing his cheek against her hair and inhaling her scent, desperate to remember it for as long as he can.

"See you soon, Dana," he finally manages. He's surprised the tears aren't back yet, but he's glad for it.

"Scully," she corrects with the trace of a smile in her voice.

He kisses her again, keeping his lips pressed against her skin as he feels her muscles relaxing.

"Scully," he agrees in little more than a whisper. Her name has never felt so perfect and right on his lips.

Tears stream down his face and onto hers, but he stays where he is. He knows she wants to feel him there, so he's not going to leave until someone makes him. The heart monitor next to the bed must stop at some point, but he doesn't notice.

She's gone now, she's somewhere far away from here, and she's happy. He has to believe that, and he does, with the same unfaltering, total belief that he takes everywhere.

The doctors come in and pull him away, and he lets them. The body lying next to him isn't Scully, not anymore, and he's said his goodbyes, or as close as he can come. He can't look at her, though, and keeps his eyes down as he leaves the room. Bill shouts something after him, but he doesn't know what, and he doesn't care. He knows what he has to do.


	2. The Middle

The apartment smells of her. He remembers being here not so long ago, planning his own death, and has to stop to sit down before he collapses. She had been so good at pretending that she was okay- she always had been. Yeah, he'd known she was ill, but she never let him see it, to the point where he forgot. He never thought of Scully's cancer, instead hiding it from his mind in the hopes he could bury it so far down it would just disappear. He's already doing that when he thinks of her. She's not lost forever. Scully's just gone. He's not going to see her for a while, that's all, so he'll put her out of his mind.

He thinks of the word and he starts crying all over again.

"Dead. She's dead, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead." He finds himself repeating it until the word has lost its meaning and he can think of it without feeling like his heart's going to explode.

That's not what he's come here to do, damn it. He's already overstayed his welcome.

He feels himself get up and head for her bedroom. Everything is the same, but of course it is. Possessions don't just change because their owner isn't there anymore. Only our perceptions of them do.

He looks around. There's a hairbrush and a watch on the dresser, but he can't bring himself to touch them. She has a copy of _The New York Times_ next to her bed, next to a manilla folder that he hasn't seen before. At first he wonders if it's an X-File, but there's no title on the front and it's not the right size.

He opens it.

There's an X-ray of a head, and he recognises it instantly as the first scan she had upon learning of her cancer. The tumour is a solid white block just above the sinus, and it glares off the plastic at Mulder until he has to look away. The folder is filled with photocopies of medical journals and books, highlighted and underlined. There are other scans, ones he's not seen, and pages and pages of Scully's handwriting. He skims over them and sees the words 'cancer', 'chip' and 'abduction' repeated several times. It's her own theories, her own notes on the illness that was consuming her. Was she looking at this the night before she went into hospital? Didn't she understand that there was no way of curing it?

He's about to put the pages back when he notices one of them isn't filled with writing. He pulls it out to look, and sees his own name written there, in her handwriting, the only word on the page. There are three flowers carefully pressed and stuck down next to it, and although they've dried and withered he identifies them immediately as those he gave to her in the hospital, that first day when she told him about the cancer.

His vision blurs suddenly as he realises their meaning, the significance of their presence here among other mementos of her illness. He wonders if she kept them out of habit, or made a conscious decision to do so because she couldn't get rid of them. He wonders if she looked at them often, or ran her fingers over his name the way he's doing now. He wonders how often she looked at them, and wonders if they made her smile.

This is what he came for. Just something, anything, to remind him of her, something with little significance to anyone else, something her family wouldn't miss. He returns the other papers to the folder and leaves it on the floor before leaving.

For a moment he debates taking the key with him, too, then decides against it. He locks her door and leaves the key in her mailbox downstairs, unable to face explaining the situation to the landlord. Maggie or Bill might find it, and even if they don't at least it's out of his possession. As he gets in the car he wonders whether he should've taken a photo, too- he doesn't have any of Scully, not even one, and already her features are starting to blur in his mind's eye. But he can't bring himself to go back into that silent apartment full of memories and pain, not now. Maybe he can find a photo in the office, or in the FBI records. He doesn't care which one, or what she looks like, he just needs one, so he can't forget her.

xXx

Skinner finds him one. It's her ID photo, washed out and unflattering, but he takes it. He tries to remember when it was taken, if he was with her. Her hair is shorter, curling at the edges, so he guesses it's a few years old.

Skinner also advises him to take some time off, but Mulder refuses. He's done this job without her before, and he can do it again now.

The office is too quiet without her. He'll be halfway through reading a case report and he'll start talking to her: 'Hey, Scully…" Then he remembers she isn't there, she never will be ever again, and he stops himself. Nothing in the X-Files seems worth it anymore. He gets messages about unexplained phenomena and mysterious disappearances or murders every week, and always tells himself that he'll get around to following them up, but he never does. Not even a story of previous 'alien abductees' being burnt to death on a bridge at Skyland Mountain can summon enough energy in him to go and investigate. He wonders if Scully would've insisted on going, if she were still here, or if she would've gone without telling him and been burnt along with them. He wonders if any of the victims had an incurable kind of cancer residing in their temporal lobe.

It's maybe six months after Scully died that he gets a call from Skinner at 2am, asking him to come down to headquarters. The basement is a burnt-out wreck. All his files, his life's work, his collection of proof… gone. Destroyed by the very men he was meant to be fighting against. He wants to feel angry or upset or even just relief that it's all over. Instead he feels nothing. Until he remembers that his photo of Scully was in his desk.

Did they know how much it meant to him? Did they burn the office for that photo, as much as the information stored here? He doesn't bother trying to answer his own questions. The FBI can lie straight faced to him, and smoking man can try to achieve whatever plan he has through Mulder, but he's done playing games.

There's a job in the Chicago Division, in the homicide department. They're in need of a profiler, and Mulder fits the job description perfectly. Two weeks later he hands in his resignation to Blevins' replacement and takes out a lease on an apartment in downtown Chicago.

He's leaving this part of his life behind. Leaving Samantha, the conspiracy, Skinner and this shabby basement. He doesn't tell his mother he's moving, and only tells his landlord the morning he hands over his keys, setting off to the airport with his holdall.

No one knows him in the new building. No one calls him Spooky or mentions his work on the X-Files, and he's glad. Once, a guy in the department mentions his old partner, Dana Scully. Says he knew her at Quantico, asks him how she's doing.

Mulder shrugs and lets him figure it out for himself. It's better than lying, and he doesn't want this man's sympathy. People leave him alone otherwise; he gets the impression that they're scared of him. He's quiet, brooding, and sticks to himself, but he gets cases solved and gets killers locked up, so no one questions him.

He survives like this for two more years.

She stays alive in his dreams.


	3. Interlude

Something hits him, fast, hard, burning hot.

'Agent Mulder? Agent Mulder!'

Gunshots. Something whizzes above him.

'Oh god.'

Cold metal inside him, blood spurting out around it. The world darkens.

'Agent Mulder, I need you to stay awake.'

It doesn't hurt.

'Agent Mulder, can you hear me?'

He thinks.

He remembers auburn hair against a white pillow case.

He is moved onto his side. A new voice.

'It's not gone through.'

Blue eyes that he can look into forever.

Cool, clammy skin against his.

'Agent Mulder, I need you to respond.'

Sirens. More gunshots. The beep of a cardiac machine.

'We've got to move him.'

'Is that safe?'

A trace of perfume under the smell of disinfectant.

'Help me lift him.'

The sheet rising and falling. Getting slower.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Dana.

Scully.

Soft skin, an echo of warmth below the surface.

See you soon.

Silence, darkness, confusion.

'Agent Mulder?'

He steps outside, his heart still.


	4. The Beginning

_'When souls find comfort in one another, separation is not possible.'_

_-N.R. Hart_

"Fox."

He finally makes sense of the word. Something at the back of his mind recognises it as his name.

"Fox, wake up."

His eyes open. It's bright, so bright, and he automatically flinches before something touches his arm.

"It's okay, Fox."

He knows that voice. He hasn't heard it for almost twenty-five years, but he's never forgotten it, and he recognises it in an instant.

"Samantha?"

A laugh, and then his little sister's in his arms once more, hugging him, and he's gripping her back because she's finally real, she's there, and she's the only secure thing he has left.

"Samantha."

His eyes begin to slowly adjust; he can see her, now, as she pulls away. She's a few years older than when he saw her last, what seems like a lifetime ago, but he knows it's her. Her eyes and smile are hers, and she's so happy and young and so undeniably his sister that he grins back, overwhelmed with love for her.

The world seems to glow around her, still bright enough to hurt his eyes but quickly becoming bearable. He's in a forest, surrounded by pines, and he realises he must be sitting up against one. The wind stirs his hair and brings distant bird song to his ears. It's quiet. Calm. The atmosphere seems to relax him, even though he knows he's never been here before, and that enough should be enough to worry him.

"Daddy's back at the house. He wants to see you."

"Dad? D-Dad's here? But… but he's…" it hits him then, full force and without warning. He remembers a warehouse, sharp cracks like fireworks, warmth exploding from his chest. Lying on something hard as everything faded away… "Sam, are we dead? I'm dead?"

There's worry in her eyes, even as she smiles reassuringly. "It's okay, Fox. Here."

She holds him again and he feels his body go limp, a grown man collapsing into this little girl's arms, letting her take all his weight. His brain is fighting desperately to try and make sense of it all, to process it, but all he can think is that she's been dead. All this time, all these years, she's been dead. He'd spent all his life searching for her in vain, and she was already gone too far for him to save her, and there was never anything he could've done to bring her back.

Questions tumble out of his mouth, and he knows they're all nonsense and just words, barely constructed sentences put together by his addled mind, so he's not surprised when she doesn't reply. He needs to calm down.

He can't.

She's here. His father's here. And now he is, too. Why didn't they ever come and see him? Why… where… oh, god-

"Scully." He sits up, head still spinning. "Scully."

She's here. She must be here. He almost collapses again as memories of her that he'd thought he'd forgotten come rushing back through him, making his throat constrict and tears well in his eyes. The thought of seeing her, of holding her, of just being with her again, send him spiralling.

"Dana? Your partner?"

He realises he's trembling as he looks back up at Samantha. "You know her?"

"She comes to see me sometimes. Daddy said you worked together."

Mulder exhales shakily, covering his face. Scully. _Scully_.

"Hey," Samantha puts a hand on his shoulder again, concern in her voice. "You okay?"

"Can I… can I see her?" Then he feels terrible because he hasn't seen his family for so long, he hasn't seen _her_ in so long, and she's the one he's spent his life looking for, and all he can think about is Scully. "I mean… Sam, I need to… I need to see her."

She seems to understand. "It's fine," she smiles. "We've got all the time in the world."

Whether that's true or not, he knows that it wouldn't change his actions. He's spent all this time looking for his sister, but what he needs now is to see _her_. It's hardly surprising. Scully has been the most important person in his life pretty much as long as he's known her, has taken priority over everything and everyone else, and he's spent the last few years blocking her from his mind.

He finally lets it all come back. Every emotion related to her, surrounding her, every thought he's ever had of her. He remembers holding her as she cried, sitting by her bedside when she was in hospital, smiling at her from across the table at her surprise birthday meal, kissing her forehead at every chance he got.

His hands are covering his face again, and he's not sure if he's crying but he can feel his shoulders shaking and he knows his breath is coming in gasps. He can't hear anything but his sobs for a long time, so he doesn't know how long it takes him to calm down enough to become at least partially aware of his surroundings again. It's cool, now, in the shade; he feels goose-bumps on his bare arms.

"Mulder?"

His head snaps up. His eyes are still blurry with tears and emotion, and he blinks a few times to clear them before…

"Scully," he breathes, feeling his chest lighten.

"Hi," she kneels in front of him, where he's sure Samantha was a moment ago, but he doesn't think about it because she's smiling.

Her smile. He never thought he'd see her smile ever again, and he only sees it now for a second before his eyes flood with tears and he feels himself break down again. It doesn't matter, though, because Scully's wrapping her arms around him, guiding his forehead to her shoulder, letting him cry into her neck.

She rocks him back and forth, her hands running through his hair as he holds on to her.

"Oh, Mulder," she whispers. "Mulder."

She feels solid and secure underneath him while he's almost painfully weak in comparison, clinging to her for support. He remembers the last time he saw her and how fragile she felt- thin and delicate, like she could shatter any moment, and the thought makes him cry harder. He's missed her. He's missed her so much it's been like a physical ache in his body, one that's finally been eased after the eternity he's spent without her.

He kisses her shoulder, her hair, her neck, every inch of her that he can touch in his current position. His grip on her is probably hurting, but he can't make himself let go of her yet, he has to make sure she's there and he can't lose her again.

"Shh," her voice sounds tearful, too. "Shh, Mulder. It's okay, I'm here."

"Dana…"

"Scully." She takes his head in her hands and tenderly kisses his forehead. "Or I'm calling you Fox."

He laughs and draws back so he can see her properly. She's still smiling, but her eyes are slightly glassy, and the sight makes him resolve to never let her cry again, to keep her happy forever.

He touches her cheek with quiet reverence, still hesitant to do so in case she vanishes under his touch. She doesn't. Instead, she reaches up to trace his jaw with her thumb, resting it momentarily on his lower lip before trailing it up the other side. He takes it as a sign that it's okay to do the same; he gently runs his fingers over her lips, her cheekbones, her brows, down to carefully tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, gazing into her eyes the whole time.

Her hands have found their way round to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and stroking it like it's the most precious thing in the world, like she never wants to stop.

The feeling of her skin on his brings new tears to his eyes, but he squeezes them tight and brings his forehead to hers so she can't see them. They share a long breath, the warm air dancing over their lips, love and comfort radiating into each other through their embrace.

"I missed you," she whispers finally.

He wants to say it back but his throat is so choked up with emotion that he can't manage it. When he manages to get the words out, all he can manage is her name, savouring each syllable as it leaves his mouth.

She tilts her chin up so her lips touch his, just as his are parted, and he feels himself smiling because this is what he's missed, her, everything about her, her touch and her scent and the way she feels in his arms, and this kiss is all of it and more. Her lips are soft, warm; he could spend forever in this moment and never tire of the sensation of her mouth on his or the way his heart is swelling.

She's the one who pulls away first, only enough to rest her forehead on his again so their lips remain a fraction of an inch away from each other's.

"I missed you, Mulder," she whispers again.

He nods, fighting with every ounce of his body not to kiss her one more time. Her touch is addictive.

"I love you," he murmurs instead, nudging her nose with his. His chest feels instantly lighter now he's said it, now it's finally out there. Any longer inside and he would burst.

Scully cups his cheek to wipe away his tears and presses another kiss to his lips. "I know. I always knew."

He pulls her close again so she's tucked under his chin, fully pressed against his chest, and notes the way her heart starts to beat in time with his against him. She clings back for a long moment, then relaxes completely and lets out a long sigh of relief and contentment.

"Mulder."

He drops a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Scully."

He starts to rock her gently, their arms still wrapped tight around each other, knowing that everything he's feeling is being conveyed through touch, unspoken, in the same way her emotions are rippling through him. He has a million and one things to ask her, to tell her, but she's not going anywhere soon, so he can take all the time he wants. He doesn't need answers right now- the only one that matters has been answered, and all others pale in comparison.

She's here. Right now that's all he needs.


End file.
